You Don’t Rush a Scab. So Why Are You Rushing This?

You don’t yell at a scratch to scab.
You don’t force a wound to close with more willpower.
You simply tend to it. Give it breath. Protect the rawness.
And then…you wait.

We forget that sometimes. That not everything demands a hustle. That there’s a sacred biology at play, one that knows exactly how to mend itself if only we’d stop interrupting.

But your brain doesn’t like waiting. It craves certainty. Predictability. Safety. That’s its job: to protect you, even if it means keeping you small, restless, or stuck in loops you’ve long outgrown. It holds tight to old patterns not because they’re nourishing, but because they’re known. And known is synonymous with “safe” in the limbic lexicon.

So you loop.
You ache.
You feel the whisper of a nudge—something more is calling—and then... you do nothing.

Not because you’re lazy. Not because you don’t want change. But because the part of you tasked with keeping you alive can’t distinguish between danger and growth. It registers anything unfamiliar as a threat. Which is why the possibility that could liberate you often terrifies you first.

This is the paradox: the thing you crave might only be accessible when you stop trying to control the outcome.

Here’s the truth no one talks about enough: our brains aren’t reliable narrators when we’re too close to our own pain. They scramble data. Invent meaning. Prioritize comfort over clarity. So yes, sometimes we absolutely need a mirror that isn’t us. Someone who’s not invested in your status quo or your fear of rocking the boat.

We need a witness. A guide. Someone who sees through the fog because they’re standing outside of it.

That doesn’t make you weak. It makes you wise.

You’ve likely been gaslighting your own longing. Downplaying your ache. Rationalizing your inertia. Because the cost of change is unknowable—and your brain, clever as it is, would rather keep you circling in the familiar ache than risk a new one.

But not acting is still a choice. And it’s rarely the one that sets you free.

Here’s where this comes full circle: just like you wouldn’t force a wound to heal faster, you also don’t bypass the discomfort of wanting more. You let it live. You listen. You stop assuming your resistance means stop. Often, it just means pause. Feel. Honor.

And then? You move. Slowly. Honestly. With support if needed. From a place of deep alignment, not external urgency.

This is where the real reclamation begins—not by “fixing” what’s broken, but by finally trusting the deeper rhythms already pulsing inside you. The ones that know your next step. The ones that have always known.

So if you’re feeling like nothing’s “wrong” but everything feels... off? If your life looks fine on paper but your soul keeps whispering that there’s something more?

It’s not in your head.
It’s in your body.
It’s in your field.
It’s in the parts of you that are done with delay.

Let it take its time.
But don’t let it go unheard.

You don’t have to do it alone.
But you do have to answer.

And when you do? That old loop becomes your launchpad.